


lay my heart down with the rest

by quixotix



Category: The Alienist (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, Trans Laszlo Kreizler, Trans Male Character, author is transmasc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25940446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixotix/pseuds/quixotix
Summary: Sara's investigation into Laszlo's past digs up more than anticipated.
Relationships: Sara Howard & Laszlo Kreizler
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	lay my heart down with the rest

**Author's Note:**

> [leans in close to the mic]  
> Laszlo trans  
> [crowd cheers wildly]
> 
> a short piece for day one of The Alienist LGBT+ Week! the theme I went with was The Closet. This is extremely indulgent so forgive me if it's a tad OOC. Set immediately after Laszlo explaining what happened to his arm in Episode 10.
> 
> title is from 'Angel of Small Death' by Hozier.

The matter of Laszlo’s return to the case was quickly put out of the way. He and Sara had moved to the dining room for a needed drink and sat for several minutes in companionable silence, Sara sipping at her whiskey and Laszlo tapping a nervous finger against his coffee cup. 

It’s when Sara eventually sets her emptied glass down on the table that Lazlo works up the nerve to ask.

“Miss Howard, if I may… how is it that you worked out I was lying about my arm?”

Sara watches him for a moment, considers her words.

“As I said, I had only been looking into your history out of regard for you,” she says. “It was never my intention to dig up so much painful history.”

She hesitates, brows furrowing as she considers him. 

“I found a newspaper in the archives. An old society column about a party your parents held, not long after their move to the city.”

Laszlo feels the cold creep of anxiety in his stomach the moment the word ‘newspaper’ passes his lips.

“And it made mention of me?”

Sara’s lips press into a thin line, her eyes flashing with an awareness that makes his skin crawl.

“It…” she stammers, folds her hands in her lap. “Yes. It mentioned how you “dazzled all” with a rendition of Mozart's Concerto. The sheet music I dropped that evening in the hansom _._ ”

Her tone is trying for casual, but misses by just the slightest margin. The doctor pauses, drops his strong hand from the table to his thigh, curling it to a fist.

He knows exactly which article she had found, though really any one of the old gossip pieces about his family likely would have landed them in the same place.

The Kreizlers had been something of a fascination for the neighbourhood upon their arrival in New York. Emil and Lina Kreizler had quickly established a reputation for themselves as a respectable but affable couple, becoming known for their vibrant social gatherings. 

The papers had loved to extol his mother’s warm demeanour and bright laugh and his father’s stern but dry wit. And of course, each print would apparently have been incomplete without mention of Miss Elsa Kreizler, their talented young _daughter_. 

He had skimmed a few of them as a child, whenever his parents had left the newspaper lying on a table or in the drawing room. Laszlo could still remember how his skin had crawled reading the way they described him- _delicate, petite, pretty;_ every inch the perfect little girl he was thought to be. He remembered the overpowering sense of dismay that lingered over him when he saw his birth name in the neat typeface. He had been too young, too afraid, to try to work out the cause of the sheer _wrongness_ he felt in the identity he had been given. 

Escaping it all, finally being able to carve out a new existence for himself, had been torturous, the fear of those close to him stumbling across his history a constant shadow over him. He had spent more nights than he would ever admit imagining what he would say, planning for the worst, desperate to be a step ahead.

But now, faced with the reality of it, with the unchangeable fact that Sara had read those same false praises, that damned name, Laszlo finds himself unable to say a thing.

Sara’s face creases with concern as the doctor simply looks at her, wide-eyed, mouth working as he tries to find something to say. He leans forward, presses his face into his dominant hand. There’s a shake to his shoulders, minute, but there all the same. Seeing him so rattled unsettles her.

“Doctor Kreizler?” she calls, reaching out to lay a hesitant hand on his shoulder, but he seems almost unable to hear her.

“Doctor Kreizler?” Sara jostles him gently, but still receives nothing by way of response.

_“Laszlo!”_ she eventually pleads, squeezing her fingers around the bone of his shoulder.

The use of his first name shakes him out of his stupor, his eyes frantic as they search her face. His shoulder twitches, and she realises she’s holding his weaker arm. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t try to shake her hand off; merely sits there and lets her keep him anchored as he tries to settle his breathing. 

Eventually, he leans back into his chair, pinching at the bridge of his nose as though he’s trying to will away a headache. Sara clears her throat and takes a breath before speaking:

“I won’t ask, but I need you to know that what I read in those articles, the… situation of your history. It makes no difference.”

Laszlo lets his breath out in a long gasp, and Sara pretends not to notice how similar it is to a sob.

“It’s of no concern. You’re still the man you’ve always been. Though I’d imagine you don’t need me to tell you that.” 

And then Sara smiles at him. It’s small, but kind, understanding in a way that immediately eases the knot of anxiety in Laszlo’s stomach. He takes a deep breath and manages a small smile of his own. 

“Of course. Thank you, Miss Howard.”

“No thanks needed, Laszlo.”

She reaches out slowly to lay her hand next to his on the table, fingertips just brushing the back of his knuckles. 

“And if it’s not too forward: John will never hear of this. Neither him nor anyone else. Never from me,” she reassures warmly, sincerely, before turning her eyes back to her empty whiskey glass.

“I don't suppose I could trouble you for another one of these? And maybe one for yourself. You look as though you need it.”

Despite the frantic thump of his heart and the ache in his chest, Laszlo laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Sara is the supportive lesbian friend we all need in our lives.
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you notice any big grammar issues, please don't hesitate to point them out to me! <3


End file.
